I hate you
by ameritastic
Summary: Alfred has dreams. About Ivan. And more than anything in the world, he does not want to see Ivan. He does not want to come to terms with his feelings either. He just wants to have a good night of sleep. RusAme
1. Chapter 1

"Soviet…" He muttered under his breath. The words left his lips uncharacteristically sour. He wished he could say that word normally. He wished it with the same burning need that he wished he would stop having dream of the Russian.

But Alfred F. Jones never got what he wanted.

Alfred sat tiredly in his seat in the meeting. The fact he could barely get a good night rest anymore only played along to the fact his flight had been delayed and he was instructed not to sleep on the plane. And the freezing winter of Norway just about put him into hibernation, but he would get yelled at if he fell asleep.

So all-in-all he slumped on the table with a little over three hours of sleep in his system. But the other nations didn't expect anything, since he always slept during meetings.

And by the end of the meeting all the countries were taking their leave, except for him, who groaned loudly and refused to move.

"Yo, Alfred!" Gilbert slapped the other on the back, plopping down on the seat next to him.

Alfred jumped, almost falling back in his chair which only earned boisterous laughter from the micro-nation.

"You fell asleep! The awesome me was able to stay up through the whole meeting!" Gilbert bragged, pushing the other playfully.

The blonde squinted and swatted his hand away, "Yeah right."

.

Alfred visibly soured whenever Ivan entered the room. Everybody knew it. They knew that he was still incredibly uneasy around him, even though he's past his communist days.

Maybe he was uneasy because they could have been close. Could have. Before he was swallowed in his Imperial insanity.

Maybe.

Or maybe it was the fake smiles and constant staring.

Or maybe it was the fact that Alfred thought that Ivan was cute, and he had dreams about Ivan but yet, he still couldn't talk to the other kindly. He couldn't even _talk_ about him kindly.

It was ridiculous.

"Amerika, why won't you talk to me?" Alfred immediately looked in the opposite direction, trying to avoid Ivan's innocent gaze.

No. He wouldn't talk to the old hag. He hated Russia. He couldn't _stand_ him. Russia caused him to lose sleep. He caused him emotional exhaustion. He caused him a tightness in his chest when he thought about how bad their war was and how the Russia became so nasty. The Commie caused his stomach to flutter whenever they were in each other's presence.

And the worst part was he didn't know _why._

"America?" Alfred jumped, forgetting that Ivan was behind him. He relaxed and looked down at his hands.

Ivan sighed and toke the empty seat next to him.

"Alfred, why don't you talk to me?" Alfred's stomach fluttered at the sound of his human name. His head turned to stare at the other in seconds, surprise written all over his face. Ivan's eyes showed a bit of worry, not that he was looking at his eyes. Alfred jumped up and removed himself from the the meeting room before he could say anything.

"Al?" The familiar voice of his albino friend rang through the halls. Gilbert stopped at the door he had just now entered and watched the distressed American exit with a glance, which only confused him more.

.

His pale fingers ran from his chin and across his chest, down to the hem of his shirt.

The pale blonde smiled lovingly down at the blue-eyed country as he slipped his hand under the fabric of his shirt. His face dipped down, snagging his bottom lip. Alfred hummed appreciatively as the other traced small circles into the skin of his stomach.

Alfred tilted his head up to fully capture Ivan's teasing lips completely.

Ivan snuck his tongue into the smaller boys mouth and roamed freely, at the same time lifting his shirt completely off, making sure to flick each of Alfred's sensitive buds in the process.

This caused the blue-eyed boy to mewl, which he tried to cover up with a hand over his mouth.

Ivan shook his head with his ever-present smile and pried the hand away, and recaptured his lips.

Ivan let his fingers trail down Alfred's chest and stomach and reached his belt, making quick work of it. The taller blonde slipped his jeans off, moving his lips to the others jawline and trailing down his neck, nipping occasionally and resting on Alfred's collarbone.

Ivan began to palm him, smirking as the pre-cum leaked through his boxers. He 'tsk'ed in appreciation at Alfred's readiness, kissing his collarbone happily, helping with Alfred's growing 'problem'.

.

Alfred rose in his bed with a hissing moan, face contorted in anger and fading pleasure.

"Not again!" He cried out, glaring at his boxers as if his mere anger would fix his sticky and irritating problem.

He inched himself off the bed, holding two sides of his boxers to try and ease the irritation. When he got off the bed he quickly tore off the boxers and grimaced, a white mess rolling down his legs.

"Fuck," He whined, grabbing a towel and retreating to the shower.

There was a meeting today.

In an hour.

Alfred groggily walked into the meeting room, squinting his eyes as the adjusted to the super bright light of the room. He slumped down into an empty chair, his head immediately fell to the table.

It's not that he was particularly tired, but he _was_ a little bit.

He was mostly frustrated, confused, and sad. And that resulted in his irritable attitude.

He almost slapped the person who obnoxiously pulled at his jacket,

"Alfreeed," Gilbert's whiney voice rang through his ears.

"What?" He mumbled, looking up.

"You've been such a bum lately! You're being so unawesome," I glared at him and he frowned, raising an eyebrow as something clicked,

"More dreams?"

"The Soviet asshole never leave me alon-"

"That is quite rude, Amerika," Both Gilbert and Alfred jumped. Gilbert glared at Ivan before giving Alfred a reassuring glance and taking his leave.

"Why don't you sit where you usually do?!" Alfred sneered as he sat next to him. He sat up completely, resting his head in his hand, looking straight ahead and _definitely_ not looking at the Russian.

"Because I wish to know what's wrong with you," He hummed, patting a hand softly on the top of Alfred's head.

"Well a greedy Commie bastard like you doesn't deserve to know!" He stood up, growling. His outburst received annoyed looks from most nations, minus France, England, and Canada, who gave him worried stares.

But he didn't care. He didn't care because he kept screwing up. Ivan wasn't communist anymore.

But he was greedy. Because the Russian toke his dreams and his innocence and most of every thought Alfred had is laced with Ivan. Greedy because he had perfect hair and beautiful eyes that made his heart pound. Greedy because he had a soft voice with a sexy, deep accent. Greedy because he was just correctly toned and moved gracefully.

It was hot.

And Alfred hated it.

Alfred found a seat across the room, slumping in it. His head fell back and he stared at the ceiling with a glare.

"Amerika, why have you been so unusual?" Alfred's head jerked up, Ivan was right in front of him.

But why did Ivan care?

He probably didn't.

"Because I hate you!" He screamed, standing up to size him up; even though Ivan was much taller.


	2. Chapter 2

There were three people who knew about the dreams: Gilbert, Arthur, and Matthew. He didn't dare tell Francis, though he probably had found out by now.

"You're always bothering me!" Alfred screamed at the top of his lungs, fist clenched.

There was murmuring around them and soon the nations began to leave the meeting room. This always happened when the two of them fought, they never liked being around either nation when he was angry or upset.

When the last nation had left and closed the door Ivan toke a step back and seated himself in the nearest chair.

Alfred stepped forward and puffed out his chest, "You're always screwing with me and I hate it!" He put his hands on his hips and pouted angrily.

"Oh? Am I?" Ivan smiled innocently.

Alfred twitched and his body tensed in absolute anger,

"How so?" The Russian probed innocently.

"You're always staring at me and following me and budding into my business!" Alfred hissed, leaning forward to look at the other in the eye.

"Ah, do you wish for me to stop?" The larger male rose an eyebrow.

Alfred sputtered; no, he didn't want him to stop! He loved the attention and expecially from the man he had an undesirable crush on.

"I see," Ivan hummed and stood up, "Very well, Alfred." He placed a hand firmly on the others shoulder and squeezed lightly before turning and leaving a confused, frustrated, and blushing Alfred in the wakes of the re-entering countries.

.

"I wonder if people hated him back then, too."

Alfred's eyes flickered to the albino beside him, confusion swimming on his face. Hid index finger ran over the paper outing of his cigarette, breathing deeply before his finger wrapped around it and pulled it out. Alfred didn't smoke often, at least not anymore, but when he did it meant he was either stressed, depressed, or hurt (Wars, economy, ect.)

"What do you mean?" He murmured, not feeling up to speaking loudly.

His free hand rested against the wall of the meeting hallway, his eyes shifting from left to right to look down the empty halls in a bored manner. The meeting was long since over and only Alfred and Gilbert were left in the building. Gilbert knew Alfred had something to talk about and he knew it was important if he was asking to have a _cigarette _over it. Even though they had been talking over pointless subjects for _hours _he knew not to rush the other male.

"I wonder if other people, besides me, hated Russia during the wars." Gilbert rephrased, holding his plastic cup out for the other to spill his ashes into.

"Most countries were just scared of him," Alfred sighed, flicking his ashes, and trying not to let the fact that he had emptied more than half his cigarette pack in just one night, "But _I_ really did hate him."

"He was a nightmare." Gilbert blinked, pushing the bad memories of being under the Russian's control for so many years. He flicked his own ashes, remembering how the whole thing had, literally, nearly killed him. And then he was pretty much disregarded and forgotten. Gilbert shivered at the memory.

"He was." Alfred agreed, sighing and sticking his half-gone cigarette into the cup and pushing it down to the bottom, extinguishing the flame, "What if he finds out? About my thing for him," He swallowed thickly, looking down at his shoes

Gilbert held a sigh of relief and put out his own cigarette, he was _finally _getting to the point.

"I dunno; I guess if he does you either live happily ever after or he has a huge tantrum," They both knew the tantrum part was an exaggeration, that Ivan, instead, would probably use the information against Alfred.

The blonde wasn't sure if he was ready for something like that.

"What if he _already _knows." Alfred worried his bottom lip, glancing at the Prussian and started to rap his finger against the wall, the sound echoing down the halls. What if the Russian _did _know? What if Alfred had been too obvious? To careless? He _did _almost blurt it out during their argument earlier that day.

"Then he's probably already planning against you," Gilbert murmured.

Alfred wasn't ready for this.

.

Alfred tapped his finger slowly against his coffee cup, staring at it's contents, slowly lifting it to his mouth and taking a sip, the soft drone of voices within the small coffee shop calming his nerves, if only a little bit.

"I haven't seen you this distant since the Cold War." The British accent came waltzing through his brain, making him look up at Arthur, the small bit of surprise on his face disappearing when he remembered Arthur had invited him here; which was rare. This meant, most likely, that the Brit was extremely worried; which was also rare.

Alfred tensed at the realization of the sentence and places his cup back down on the table, his hand wrapping a bit more securely around the mug.

"Why are you avoiding him?" Arthur's eyes furrowed and he leaned in, in anticipation for the answer.

Alfred's jaw clenched. No. He wouldn't throw his pride away. Not that easily.

"You're afraid." Arthur said with certainty, realizing the other wouldn't say it. He backed away, "You have good reason to be afraid. But if he hurts you when you do tell him, I won't let him get away with it."

Alfred sighed; even though he wasn't under Arthur's control anymore he was still extremely protective of him. Maybe a little too protective.

"You can't hurt him, you know."

Arthur paused and looked down at his mug, "Maybe not. But I can try."

Alfred was silent, and he looked up at Arthur with the same eyes he had used centuries ago, the eyes that pleaded for Arthur to give him advice on what to do next.

Arthur stared back in thought. He knew if Alfred told the Russian he'd either be laughed at and teased or he would have a new boyfriend – possibly.

And both possibilities could end badly.

"Tell him." Arthur finally murmured. Alfred's eyes widened, Matthew had told him to tell him and so had Gilbert (In his own way), and the last person he expected to tell him to go for it was Arthur. Of all people he would think Arthur would tell him not to, and convince him it was the worst choice he could make.

He definitely wasn't ready for this.


	3. Chapter 3

I am _beyond _sorry for always posting new chapters so late. And they're sO SHORT UgH

I'M SORRY THERE LIKE ONLY 1K THATS So LAME.

But I have this really bad problem where I can't write for a long time (its not ADHD let me explain) as in my hand gets jittery and aches because when I'm thinking of a way to word the next sentence I squeeze my hand and tap it on the paper. Not a good idea ? So then I'll play a game or draw something for like the next 5327893402342 hours.

I'm so sorry uGh

* * *

His heart beat quickened. His eyes widened. His hands clenched into fists.

He had done it so _easily; _shove him against the meeting room hallway and corner him, eliminating all way of escape. There was a little sting on the back of his head that was dulled only slightly by the cold hallway wall he had been slammed up against. But Alfred could hardly think of that, not with the piercing violet eyes that took up most of his vision. Or the overly-large nose that nuzzled against his own roughly, being far from comfortable.

And he had done it so _easily._

"How long?" The large Russian almost snarled. The American knew right away what he was referring to.

No. He wouldn't throw away his pride that easily. Not for some communist screw-up that was sure to laugh at his face at any attempt at a confession. No, he would keep his mouth shut and wait for the bastard to leave.

Ivan's eyes narrowed at the others defiance, he _hated_ being disobeyed. He toke a step back and breathed deeply, screwing his eyes shut, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth lifted up in an annoyed grimace.

Alfred breathed in relief and turned to walk away, but a quiet, menacing "Don't you move." glued him in place.

Ivan returned to being excruciatingly close to Alfred, their noses rubbing, their exhales mixing. Alfred could easily, effortlessly tilt his chin up and kiss him. But that would ruin the entire point of being calm and not spilling the beans.

Ivan's hand slammed down angrily on the wall besides Alfred's head and he jumped, staring at him with a curious, shocked look.

"Why won't you just make it easier for both of us and tell me?" Ivan said quietly, as if he knew any moment he could go on a rage and he was trying to calm himself.

Alfred didn't answer and the Russian's finger began tapping impatiently on the wall, his bottom lip twitching in an unspoken word; he looked angrily at Alfred in the eyes, searching for a weakness he could use immediately. The stupid burger-loving American was too stubborn. Ivan knew his 'little secret', and, even though Alfred probably hadn't noticed, most of the other countries had too.

Sadly (at least for Alfred), Ivan hadn't even _looked_ or _thought _of Alfred like that until he put two and two together and realized Alfred had been thinking of him. Thinking of him a lot. It had made him slightly uncomfortable at first, because they had been on such bad terms. But now, after at _least_ a month, he considers the embarrassed way he acts around him _annoying. _Only a little bit cute on certain days, like when Alfred unconsciously stares at him during meetings and then blushes and looks down at his un-organized papers when Ivan looked at him, catching him in the act.

But now it was annoying, because he was so _stubborn. _Like he was the only one who knew and he was acting like it was the biggest secret in the world. He was acting like a schoolgirl who just found out the hottest, most popular boy in the school liked him.

Alfred looked away and sighed, lifting his hands to the others shoulders and pushing lightly. Ivan's eyes narrowed but he backed off.

"I have a lot of things to say to you." Alfred said slowly. Ivan's eyebrow rose at the comment but didn't say anything.

"Like: I hate yo-"

"That's a lie." The Russia said childishly, smirking.

Alfred's eyes narrowed but he continued as if he hadn't been interrupted,

"And I wish you could leave me alone already."

"Lying _is _a sin, my dear America." Ivan chuckled, but frowned when Alfred continued.

"And I wish you would stop butting into my-"

"_Alfred." _Ivan leaned in again and gave the pinned blonde a glare,

"Wh-"

Alfred' words were cut off by cold, yet warm, soft lips smashing angrily against his own. His eyes widened and he watched in shock as Ivan pulled away and screwed his eyes shut, his eyebrows furrowing.

Ivan sighed heavily through his nose, "Stop talking."

Alfred gulped and squeezed himself against the wall. Russia grimaced slightly and slammed his fist against the wall, growling lowly and turning sharp on his heel and retreating to the meeting room.

"I-I love you, Ivan." Alfred groaned, sliding down the cold hallway wall and throwing his head back to look at the ceiling.

A drop of sweat ran across his face, slowly lining his eye in an ice cold accusation, running against his burning hot face. His fingertips felt like icebergs and his eyes burned as if they had not gotten any water for years.

What was he going to do now?

* * *

The low hum of the car was the only thing Alfred heard as he drove from the trade center, arriving quickly to his favorite McDonalds. They never messed his orders up. He drove straight through the menu to the order window, asking for a few cheeseburgers and a large Coke.

He sat in the parking lot for about an hour, finishing his food, before starting the car and driving off. He should just drive to the mountains or dessert, watch the stars for a few days while he figured things out. Or drive out to California, where he could be alone for a few weeks in his beach house. Or he could just go home, not drive anywhere but home; stay in bed curled up in a blanket for weeks on end until someone came and pulled him out of its protection. Nobody would though, he thought, maybe England or Canada, but unless it was for a very long time they probably would not bother. If anyone it would be his boss, after a few weeks of not showing up or calling.

Instead, though, pulling into Russia's hotel. He knew Russia had rented out a room here, it was nice and not too far away from the Trade Center, but it was far enough that most other countries wouldn't bother, he also knew because it was the closet hotel that spoke Russian, that way he was a little more comfortable in his country. He also knew because Ivan had been booking here for several of meetings that Alfred had hosted.

_I should just leave. _He thought, tapping the steering wheel nervously, _what am I doing here? He probably isn't even back yet._

Alfred watched in horror as a black, slick car pulled into the parking space next to him, windows tinted far too dark to be tinted, silver rimming the window seal and the base of the car, shiny and clean. The low, melodic, hum of the engine extinguishing into a low purr as the car was shut off and the motor slowed to a stop.

Alfred knew that car.


End file.
